


Wrong

by Messy_haired_bum



Series: Wrong Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean Dies, Gen, Pre-Series, Stanford Era, You Have Been Warned, not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:27:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9288353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Messy_haired_bum/pseuds/Messy_haired_bum
Summary: Sam woke up and the world was wrong.Or: The brothers were soulmates, and Dean never came for Sam in Stanford. A few months later, Sam didn't know what suddenly went wrong with his world. Until he did.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】Wrong | 错](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11800020) by [Nil_Azrael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nil_Azrael/pseuds/Nil_Azrael)



> A/N: I was showering. Showering. What the actual fuck. And then my bastard of a brain was like 'oooh, Soulmate AU yes good very good, but what if' and here we are.

\------------------------------

When Sam woke up, the world was wrong.

He blinked. Looking across at Jess, sleeping soundly and making breathy puffs that he adored, he found that she, too, was wrong. Not in the sense of _oh-god-shapeshifter_ wrong, but in the sense that everything was just. Moved slightly to the left, leaving him uncomfortable and uneasy. Like that time he picked up the shampoo that Dean had tampered with and-

Sam shook his head. _No_ , he told himself. No, he repeated out loud. That was years before, and his life, his life now didn't have Dean in it.

(He squashed the voice that told him that it could be.)

He sprang to his feet and went about checking the room. Everything was exactly where it should be, so what-

"Sam?" Jess's sleepy voice startled him. "Is everything alright?"

Sam looked back at his fiancé, gorgeous and beautiful and everything he had ever wanted and more than he ever deserved, and lied: "Yes."

Sam smiled, and even that seemed wrong.

\------------------------------

Sam went to work, and the feeling didn't stop.

From his cubicle, Sam looked around his workplace, abandoning the pretense of working. This was what he loved, what he dreamt of, what he sacrificed ~~Dean~~  his previous life for.

It felt wrong.

Sam Winchester sat in his chair, surrounded by colleagues he befriended, in the firm that he adored, doing a job that he desired, and just wanted to scream and never stop.

He didn't.

Instead, he twisted his engagement ring around and around his finger, until he felt somewhat grounded to this life. Then he turned back to work.

(And if his brother entered his mind, well, no one needed to know anyway.)

Sam worked, and ignored the feeling that made his skin itched.

\---------------------------------

Dinner tasted wrong. He still wasn't sure exactly _how_ , and he had been trying all day, work be damned, but it just tasted wrong. Like the wrongness that he had been seeing everywhere since he woke up today.

Sam thought about the supernatural and Dean, then he casted his gaze down to his plate and wolfed down some more food.

(It tasted like guilt and regret and endings, but Sam didn't know that yet. So when he brought his eyes up to meet Jess's worried ones, he smiled and ate some more. _This is what he wants_ , he reminded himself. How it sounded like chains and shackles, he didn't know, and didn't want to think deeper.)

Sam ate, and the food tasted wrong.

\---------------------------------

He lasted until he was in bed, staring at the ceiling that seemed to have changed somehow, next to Jess who was two shades too different. ( _Wrongwrong **wrong**_ -)

Sam slipped out of bed.

He cradled his phone to his ears, listening as it dialed the long remembered number.

No one answered.

He pressed the buttons, and tried again.

And again. And again.

No one answered.

The world was wrong.

\------------------------------------

He had to try his Dad's several times, hands clammy with sweat and heart heavy and beating rapidly, before it came through.

"Sam?" The rough voice of his father brought about a rush of relief that left Sam a bit lightheaded. "Sam?" The surprise in there was gone now; in its place wariness and delight and threat and -hope? - a confusion of emotions so tangled Sam was surprised the old man was even capable of, the emotionally stunted bastard.

He laughed, quiet and short, before fumbling around for an answer. It had really been too long, and Sam prayed that he could get through this without bloodshed.

"Hi Dad." There, that sounded normal enough. "Where's Dean?" He couldn't stop thinking about his brother all day, and he couldn't get through his phone and- "Dad?" His father had gone silent.

Dread curled and churned in his stomach, and he couldn't seem to get past the lump in his throat.

"Dad?" There was a rawness in his voice that was suddenly there, and he fervently hoped that his Dad couldn't hear it.

(Deandeandean _deandeandeandean_ \--)

"...I don't know." There was defeat there, and guilt, but Sam couldn't hear them past the sound of blood rushing to his ears, heart beating a staccato in his ribcage.

"What do you mean you don't know?" He whispered. "What do you mean you _don't know_?" And he was shouting now, unheeded of Jess jerking awake a few feet away from him.

There was a scream he trapped in his throat, and Sam clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and his nails bit into his palm. The phone cracked alarmingly in his hand. He lessened the pressure, because he needed to know, needed to hear this.

And he listened to his father's tired voice, telling him about hunting solo, about trying to keep in contact, about Dean suddenly failed to answer his phone, about asking around, trying to find Dean instead. About failures and no results. Sam listened, and he didn't scream.

When his Dad was finished, silent and waiting for recriminations, Sam just told him to come pick him up as soon as possible, then hang up. He ignored Jess's increasing concerned questionings.

Dean was missing. Had been missing. For days, weeks, no one knew. No one knew.

Sam packed his clothes, and didn't look at his trembling hands.

They would look wrong anyway.

\-----------------------------------------------

Sam hadn't thought about Dean for years, and he refused to think about what it meant that he suddenly did _now_ , as the world went wrong.

When Dad's big-ass truck pulled up to his apartment, he climbed in, leaving a teary Jess and everything behind. He couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Dean was missing, and Sam would find him, because his big brother deserved that and more and it was time for Sam repay him.

(Sam never could.)

\-----------------------------------------------

March bled into April a blazing hue of blood and heat. Sam sat shotgun in his father's truck, marking another place down with a bright, red "X".

"I had searched everywhere," John had whispered. "Everywhere." He repeated, stressing, wanting his son to know that he didn't abandon his brother. Didn't. Sam didn't care.

Sam didn't care.

The world was wrong, had been wrong since he woke up in February, and Dean was still missing.

( _He is not dead_ , Sam hissed in his head, _he's not_.

 _He can't be._ )

Months had passed and he and his father aged by years, bogged down by the shadow of the one who had held this tattered family together with all he ever had.

Hell, he and dad didn't even argue anymore. (And Dean wasn't here to see it Deandeandean-)

His brother would have been proud. His brother wasn't here. His brother was missing

(Sam missed him like a lost limb.)

\----------------------------------

It was the dawn of May that they rolled into Arizona, headed towards the Grand Canyon. It is where Dean has always wanted to go, Sam had argued. Carefully didn't use past tense.

John didn't say anything, just pressed harder on the pedals, turning the car west.

(They didn't say that they had searched everywhere else.

They didn't say that this was their last hope.)

They found the Impala near the edge.

They found Dean in the driver seat.

He had looked like he was sleeping.

Like he was peaceful.

They were too late. Too late. Toolatetoolate-

 _Oh_ , Sam thought faintly, _so that is how the end tasted like_.

There was someone screaming. He realized it was him.

He didn't stop. (He couldn't.)

\--------------------------------------

Dean died alone. Dean died alone. Dean died alone and they were too late, too late, always too late-

(You didn't know what you had until it was gone gone **gone** -)

Dean was dead and they had failed the only person that had ever been true, been there for them; they had failed Dean and they let him die they let him die they did this _they did this_ -

They found the doctor's note, and electrocution and heart failure swam before their disbelieving eyes and what, what- John's hands were bleeding from the force of his clench but Sam couldn't care because Dean was twenty-six and cold and dead and-

Dean was dead. His big brother was dead. His whole world was dead.

 _That is why the world felt wrong_ , he realized. _Dean will never reach thirty,_ he realized. He had laughed condescendingly at his brother when he had said that. And now. _Now-_ There was a high-pitched keening sound in place of the freed screams, at the back of his throat.

Like raw, bleeding grief, despair and squandered hope, suppressed.

Dean died alone. Sam's world died with him.

\-----------------------------------

(They went to the crossroads, one by one. The demons laughed at them and vanished.

No one dealt.

Dean stayed dead.)

\-----------------------------------

They burned his body on a Wednesday. ( _Wednesday's child was full of woe_ , and Sam wondered why he didn't remember that sooner.)

(He wouldn't have left.)

(He would, anyway, because Dean loved him and Sam only took and took and took, because he was a selfish, selfish child whose brother loved him to death.)

He was born on a Monday ( _full of grace_ ), so he prayed to his angels and his God and his heavens.

No one answered.

Sam put his head in his hands and wept.

Dean was dead.

\-----------------------------------

He knew John had been eyeing the guns. He had been eyeing them too.

Oh, they were both broken. So, so broken.

Dean had ruined them. Dean with his cocky smiles and kind eyes, Dean with his too-big heart and his endless absolution, Dean with his love and his music and his liveliness and he had broken them.

Then he thought about pale, cold skin and sadness etched into the corner of Dean's lips as he slept for good, and, and-

That was a lie.

They had ruined Dean.

\------------------------------------

And now Dean was ashes in the wind, and they didn't know what to do.

(What do you do when your world is gone? What do you do when your home, your heart is dead? What do you do when the foundation of your everything crumbles? What do you do when you know it's all your fault?)

They had tucked the guns away. Suicide was a sin, and they would have gone to Hell. They wanted to stay with Dean, to see, to meet him again.

(Did they even deserve that?)

They wanted to tell him they were sorry, so sorry, please they were so sorry for everything they had and hadn't done to him, for him and please if he could please-

They carried through the motions, but they lived, because that was what Dean would have wanted.

They wondered if they would ever feel alive again.

They agreed that they wouldn't.

The world was dead, and life carried on.

  


_finis._

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, oh. Hello, you are still here. *wave wave* So, I got the outline, I know that Dean will die, but the when and the where seriously crapped me out. (I wanted for it to be winter, yanno, so Dean's body got preserved by cold or something, but nooo, that would be paradoxical.) So I traced the series started on Nov 02, and I just. Pushed it back a few more months. 
> 
> For those who can see, I made a reference to Faith there. I was like, how would Dean died and still looked pretty? And then. Bam. Faith, with the heart failure. And Dean, Dean, self sacrificing Dean, self loathing Dean who looked on as his family walked away from him, would be scared, would be frightened, but then would be strong. Dean would accept his death with a smile on his lips and a slight frown on his forehead, would be content because he had done good, had fought good and he was so, so tired and he just want to be home with his Momma and everything is ending and Dean feels peace. Dean would not seek out LeStrange because why would he? That, that is how Dean dies.
> 
> So Dean chucked his phone away, (no one cares anyway, so why should he?) and spent the rest of his time road tripping. Don't tell me he hadn't returned to Stanford to check on Sam, because he did. That very first day. So close but so very far, eh? And his brother was happy and content and Dean just drove away. Criss-crossing the country, yet somehow never meeting Sam and John (Fate? Maybe. Or someone just want him to rest and be happy.) As his heart slowed, Dean parked on the edge of the Grand Canyon and saw Heaven in the sunrise.
> 
> It was more beautiful than he ever thought.
> 
> (Should I write a companion fic to this? Dean's POV??)


End file.
